Options
by analeigh rhea
Summary: Draco watched the foolish old man fall, fall from the tower to the cold grass below… he briefly wondered if Albus Dumbledore could have helped him. Probably not.


A/N: I haven't written for a long time. My prose will definitely be off. Hopefully with time I can fix that.

Disclaimer: You remember those really long novels, Harry Potter and the something-or-other? They weren't written by me.

Summary: Draco watched the foolish old man fall, fall from the tower to the cold grass below… he wondered if Albus Dumbledore _could_ have helped him. Probably not.

Draco was shaking, he could barely move. He was scum, as low as the mudbloods he'd tortured for years. Was he really going to do this? Hadn't he wanted to? Had he not dreamed of it for years? He had, and there was no denying it. There was no turning back now.

It was a good thing though, wasn't it? He had dreamed of it, worked his ass off all year for this moment. He whispered the idiotic password – sugar quills, he'd always hated those things – and marched up the stairs at a snail's pace. He was such a wimp.

It was a good plan, he thought. Sometimes the most simple were the most effective. If he fired the Dark Mark, certainly DUMBledore would run to see who of his precious minions had been knocked off. He, Draco, would run up the stairs (this part wasn't working, he was certainly not running now) and kill him. It was so _simple_. Draco reached the top of the stairs. He took a breath for courage, raised his wand, and threw himself at the door.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Was that his voice? It was so… so weak. The foolish old man stood there next to a broom. Merlin, he was pathetic. Wait, if he was next to that broom, and there was another one at Draco's feet…

"Who else is here?!" He asked sharply, raising his wand. He wondered if the barmy old codger could sense his fear, hear it in his voice.

"I might ask you the same thing, Draco. Or are you acting on your own?" Tweedle Dumb replied, almost pleasantly. The old fool, didn't he know he was about to die?!

"I've got backup," Draco announced proudly, for he had been the one to get them in, "You have Death Eaters in _your_ school tonight."

Dumbledore was being too PLEASANT. It was like he'd invited him to tea, rather than luring him to his own death. It was frustrating. "You found a way to let them in? Very good, Mr. Malfoy…"

This was getting irritating. Dumbledore continued, and he found himself answering with no real thought behind his words. Part of it was gloating, part of it was stalling.

"You were so careless in your attempts to kill me, Draco… I wondered if your heart was in it at all," Dumbledore said conversationally. He might have been asking about the weather.

"It HAS been in it! I've been working for a year… I'm going to kill you tonight!" Draco snapped; he was getting agitated.

"I don't believe you will, Draco… you are no killer." Sweet Merlin, he was right. Draco couldn't lift his arm, couldn't force the words out. He gaped at Dumbledore wordlessly.

"How do you know?!" He grimaced at the childishness of his words. They were the words of a bratty five year old, not a sixteen year old… killer.

He glared at Dumbledore, but he felt paralyzed, as if the batty old man had thrown a Body bind jinx at him and he hadn't realized. He tried to move but couldn't. He couldn't form words.

"Perhaps you should just get on with it alone. I am defenseless for just this moment, there are Order members downstairs, and one is bound to find their way up here sooner or later. Are you afraid to act alone?" Now Draco was seeing red.

"I'm not AFRAID!" He roared, "It's YOU who should be scared. I'm going to kill you tonight!" He stiffened as his voice cracked on the last few words.

"Killing… the innocent believe that it's just pointing the wand and repeating the incantation, as simple as conjuring flowers. It's not, is it Mr. Malfoy? You won't kill me here, not alone. While we wait, please humor me. How did you get your accomplices in the castle?"

"I – I fixed the Vanishing Cabinet. It hasn't been touched in years, I'm sure you remember. Montague got stuck in it… They're a – a pair, Borgin and Burkes has the other one. You c-can go through them." He was stunned at how his voice shook. Surely he was not that much of a pathetic effeminate?

"Incredible," Dumbledore barely breathed the word. Draco flushed with pleasure at how obviously impressed Dumbledore was. "It was brilliant, right under my nose the whole time, I was none the wiser!"

"Exactly! I did it! I made it happen!" Draco whispered defiantly. Why was he whispering, again?

"You didn't always know… you resorted to inexplicably stupid methods to kill me. You almost killed two other students, Mr. Malfoy."

"You didn't know though! You didn't know it was me!" He sneered arrogantly. Why hadn't he killed him yet?! It was a pleasant conversation, not the kind you'd expect from a would-be killer and his soon-to-be victim.

Draco was numb again, not entirely sure of what Dumbledore was saying or what he was responding with. He waited for the courage to push him, wondered why he hadn't raised his wand… it would be so easy to kill him now. He tried to connect, he found himself telling Dumbledore about his ingenious plans, the ones that had lured him to this very tower…

"Someone's dead. It's one of yours. I stepped over the body on the way up. I was supposed to beat you up here… your damn bird got in the way," he whispered. He wanted to puke.

"We haven't much time, Draco... why don't we discuss your options?"

Options?! That was ludicrous! "I don't have any options!" He exploded, before he could contain himself, "He'll kill me, you barmy old codger! He'll kill my family! I'm going to kill you! If I – if I kill you – if – I'LL KILL YOU! I have to!"

"Draco, my dear boy, you'd have done so by now." Dumbledore smiled.

"You don't understand. I'll die. My family – I've worked so hard – " He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and pushed it back down. Dumbledore was spewing some nonsense about helping him. He couldn't help him. He really was batty.

But wait. He could see it. He could see himself in hiding, see his family, his mum, along with him. They would lie in wait for Potty to defeat the Dark Lord (who didn't see it coming? Stupid Potty was just the quintessential good guy) and live his life without the stigma. Well, as much of it. Was he a coward? Could he turn back now? Was that cowardly or noble? What was the right thing? He could kill Dumbledore, sure. He could destroy the second greatest symbol of the "fight" between the Wizarding world and the Dark Lord. If only he could get Potter, that murder would be far easier to commit. Dumbledore was just so… he didn't know. He had led the school that Draco couldn't deny he loved.

He stood there staring at Albus Dumbledore. He couldn't decide what he truly wanted, whether it be glory or safety. Did he have a soul? The internal struggle was one he'd dealt with all year, but this time was the worst. He truly doubted his ability to commit the murder he'd been preparing for for nearly a year.

Dumbledore looked at him expectantly while the debate raged in his head. He felt like scum. His hand twitched, reminding him of why he was there. Slowly but surely, he raised his wand. Dumbledore looked at the wand, then at Draco's watery eyes. He hadn't realized how close to tears he was. He looked at Draco like he was looking into his soul, and accepted his fate.

Draco might have done it, he might have killed him if not for Snape. He burst in, fired the curse that Draco could not bring himself to do. He watched the foolish old man fall, fall from the tower to the cold grass below… he briefly wondered if the old man _could_ have helped him.

Probably not.

A/N: I think it's a little dull… Just tell me what you think! I was worried about the dialogue so it's all very paraphrased. What do you think? I'm not overly impressed with it.


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